Work Text:
In a blink of an eye, someone else entered myung-gi's room. Pushing him to the floor and falling on top of him when the door slammed, his hands firmly on his shoulders. He moved and tried to get back up, but the guy was simply much stronger. Myung-gi knew very well who that grip belonged to, actually. That triangle in the mask. He could even hear the guy giggling when he took one of his arm and he managed to escape for a second, but not in time to stop him from going on top of him and putting those strong hands on his neck, stopping him on the wall, suffocating him.
"Ok, number 33...", he began, almost very calmly, as if disdaining the other's cut breath, "this is your fucking last warning. I told you not to fuck with me."
He was on top of Myung-gi again, the way it was, on his thighs. He changed the grip of both hands for only one, and it was surprisingly almost the same. Myung-gi tried to kick him, move that hand away, but he couldn't.
He kinda deserved it.
"What, did I hit you on your weak point or something like that?" He let out that fucking giggle again.
And while talking, he slipped his hand into the other's mask, which had a square drawn. Myung-gi decided to think he was in disbelief, trying to divert the thought of the grip in his throat. The problem was this damn of this job.
He has accepted the same thing every year knowing the possibility of situations like this, where guys in pink clothes like his ride him, with calibers in their hands. Usually he knew what to do, that's why he was one of the commanders. But it never happened that he was so confronted by the shit of a shooter. He was daring, to say the least. What else could he say? Could he at least say something?
"You're not afraid of dying anyway", and then he said, his confidence faltering along with his breath, while trying to bring his fingers closer to his pants pocket, where there was a hidden pocket knife. Breathing was starting to really be missed and the guy above him clearly noticed this, and he seemed to take more advantage of it than necessary.
The strange feeling that Myung-gi had in his stomach would not go away. It was far from fear. If this guy faltered for a second, he would be dead, he was his subordinate. Wasn't it like that?
"All right, Mr. Superior," he let go of the grip on Myung-gi's neck, letting him hit the wall, coughing. "I want to see your face."
"You've already seen my face." he murmured, with the firmest voice he could, and laid his head on the wall where he was again, taking a deep breath while sanity gradually filled it again. Or not, because even after suffocating him, the guy didn't seem to want to get off him.
He's been in situations like this and usually he fucked the person after that. Or he pierced his jugular, depending on the type of situation. Unfortunately or fortunately, he knew the masked man enough not to want to pierce his jugular. He wasn't in the mood for that, he was defeated. These guards all wanted him to get screwed that day, apparently, because he delivered the traitors. The man mounted on him was not a traitor, but was almost tortured in the corridors like one. He even had the right to punch Myung-gi, actually. Number 23 that had nothing to to do with it.
He didn't realize he was standing like a dead man when there was a guy on top of him, and was taken out of his trance when he suddenly began to take off his mask, pulling the black fabric from his face while looking at him, waiting for him to do the same.
Myung-gi had also already seen that face, the purple bruise that was on the side of the cheek bone proving it. But when he saw it and punched, it wasn't so illuminated. Now he saw the dark eyes, down, looking at him. He saw the cracked lips and full of bruises, not knowing how someone hurt his face so much wearing a mask that should prevent it. He had a good face, that's what Myung-gi thought, he was even handsome. His hair was dyed a visibly faded color and he had a scar on his eyebrow, looking by close, it was there.
And that was getting weird. The literal meaning of the word weird was right there, looking at him, judging him, waiting for Myung-gi to make a decision that the two possible endings were either heaven or hell. It was what was different in the expectation that the guy put in him at that exact moment.
Whatever it was, it was fucked, because Myung-gi took off his mask too, not stopping looking at him, still breathing tensely. Because it sounded like a challenge? What else could he do?
"Your face seems to change every time I see it," he murmured, analyzing it in the same way it was done with him. Myung-gi didn't let his surprise or strangeness appear, he didn't impose himself, he just accepted, because it didn't seem to be a confrontation or death situation now. There were good things he could do and not impose himself seemed to be either in first place or last, at the end of the list.
The guy changed position and was now on only one leg of his, with his knee in the middle, inches from grinding against him (?), myung-gi noticed and also ignored, relieved of the tension on both legs. And he did not protest when he saw the guy take off his gloves to touch him, in the almost deep cut he had made days ago, on his cheek. "You know, today, I regretted not cutting you into pieces when I could." Ah. His brave touch contained a slight tone of caress and was sounding more like a confession than a threat, if it were even possible, and that also confused myung-gi. It was already much more than what he wanted to have to endure that day.
He bitten his tongue, almost unnerved. "what exactly are you trying to do, 23?"
There was no answer. Instead, the hand that gently brushed his cheek now went down to his neck again, but without squeezing. He approached and smiled, as if he could feel Myung-gi's pulse speed up underneath his fingertips.
His hand entered the collar of his coat when he leaned over to hit his lips. It was exactly what it was about. Myung-gi's half-open eyes widened in shock, with the other man's lips moving against his in a hungry way. His gaze passed around the room wildly meanwhile, first on the guy and the surrounding room, and finally, on the knee, now totally grinding against him. He felt lost? Was that the word? He grunted under the kiss that deepened, forgetting what he should do. He should protest now. He felt a little dizzy while the guy's leg was still there. The uniform pants were thick, but it still felt like hell. The man sucked and bit his lower lip, with the touch sliding down his face, jaw, neck, wherever possible. Myung-gi's gloved hands, before on the cold floor, paralyzed, stood up. Everything was very cold, except their tongues. Protest. He should do that.
Almost reluctant to his own thoughts, Myung-gi put both hands on the guy's shoulders and pushed him away. Taken by surprise, he broke the kiss, breathing heavily while a thin strand of saliva was hanging in his mouth. It turns out that apparently, the more they kissed, the more the advantage over Myung-gi was achieved again, and he didn't realize that now they were almost face to face with each other on the floor again. He rested his hand on the floor to get up on the commander. He cast a look as he caught his breath, something that Myung-gi stared for a reasonable time to dream about later, with his knee still there. He was getting lost. He tried to reorganize his thoughts and heart rate until he was able to murmur a "what the fuck?" A little hoarse between them. The other guy who was in apparent disbelief now.
"What?" He looked at him the same way. As if it was funny.
That look, if myung-gi read well, was mocking him. Fuck, he was really handsome. There was something in the bruised cheekbones, in the way he bit the inside of his cheek while smiling and his jaw contracted, in the heavy eyes against him. Something that was impossible to unglue the fixation. "Isn't it something we're doing?"
It was stupid.
"What?" It was his turn to ask. The guy seemed to understand the message, finally taking his leg out of the middle of Myung-gi and that felt like hell, unfortunately, he realized. He seemed to be about to mention getting up when that Myung-gi hand that pushed him away now held his, in a sloppy way, right, but it had a purpose. "No... no, what?"
For now, Myung-gi really didn't doubt that if he opened his mouth, he would only be able to say that. The two got up, still on the floor, but sitting. The guy sighed.
A brief silence extended for a few moments. The kind of silence so simple, when you're waiting for someone to tell you something you want to know. You don't know what it is, but you know you want to know. And that person takes time but you keep waiting.
It was like waiting for his childhood best friend to confess a dark secret, but the friendship would remain the same, except that guards 23 and 33 were not childhood friends and were acting in hateable positions in a death game, shooting people and burning tons of corpses every day, wearing masks with drawn geometric shapes and pink clothes with naval rifles hanging on their arms. Myung-gi remembered the first time he saw himself like this. That strange feeling of not recognizing himself, the first time he threw one of those boxes in the incinerator. That was no longer his business because he didn't come home for six days and the nothing he had managed to get smaller.
"It's something I've wanted for a while, you know," he suddenly began, the two coming out of any trance of looking for what to talk about. If there was something in his words that were always finding a way to catch Myung-gi was that sincerity, as if this guy had some commitment to him. And, in that environment where they were, sincerity was missing. "and I was kind of clear, I don't know how you didn't expect that."
It made Myung-gi feel kind of obliged to tell the truth too. It wasn't a bad feeling, it just didn't suit that place.
"Oh- because you tried to kill me." he managed to punctuate, even though he didn't affect himself that much, that's what he gave him. That's what he got. The man raised an eyebrow and that, again, messed with something inside him.
"And you didn't try too?" He disdained, approaching Myung-gi again, trying to lower the collar of his own uniform and failing, the fabric too dense. "I have the fucking scar in my throat until today."
That look of Myung-gi that followed his hesitated, for a second. If the other wasn't so fixed, he wouldn't even have noticed.
Myung-gi shrank. It was undeniable that he was looking for more reasons for himself than for the guy, who looked at him exactly the same way, waiting. "Yes. That's exactly why. I wasn't really..."
He stopped.
That was stupid.
Instead of giving his sentence an end, his posture rose again and he approached, with a real look in his eyes. There was the man in which he should be afraid of him, obey him: sweaty and with his face completely exposed in his dormitory, stretching the corner of his mouth in that miserable, defiant smile. It would be almost the most disrespectful thing he ever done if Myung-gi didn't think it was fucking pretty. He just found out that he thought. Holy shit.
Myung-gi was no longer in shock when their mouths met again. No, he was even more lucid, feeling his lips cracked, kneading his, the same way. Fuck it, he thought. The strong hands grabbed his waist, or what gave about the thick and shiny coat they wore, a gift that came from the adorable service they provided. There was blood on the sleeve of the hand that myung-gi lifted to grab the purple hair while they kissed fervently, feeling hotter than ever. The erratic and discounted kiss of the other was a little difficult to control, Myung-gi always bitting him when he exaggerated, so they came to feel blood on their tongues too, in the taste. It was almost innocent that he squeezed his other hand and went down to the middle of the shooter's thighs. It was not very possible to have some friction with that uniform, some friction in which he also needed at that time, but he felt his choppy breath colliding with his and it was fucking. "You, right now," his breath weakened, "you're trying to fuck with me again."
The way that was told to him, against his own lips, made Myung-gi shudder. Many things that guy said were doing this to him.
"Am I?" He asked, in obvious sarcasm. He had taken off those gloves that covered his hands and grabbed both sides of the shooter's face, with considerable firmness, just for doing. His skin was rough against myung-gi's palms and they kissed again and again, each touch looking like a delicate caress even when they were being aggressive. It had been so long that Myung-gi didn't do anything like that. And the 23 was good, seriously. It wasn't even funny.
It didn't even feel real to call him by that, a number. The guy who was on him distributing kisses down his cheek, going down to the jaw while Myung-gi's hand was buried in the undercut hair on the back of his neck, keeping him there. There was a clear erection inside his pants and the shooter didn't help when he practically rubbed against him, or helped, anyway, it hurt like hell. When that mouth went down to his neck, he stopped. His thought was on an apparent thin line between pulling the zipper of his coat down and continuing, Myung-gi thought, or simply going out by that door and leaving him there, to die.
It was written in the dark eyes, that looked more like rolling stones without any remnant of light that could be reflected, and if the commander was careless, they would fall on him. Myung-gi felt so easy to read at that moment.
So easy that the guy just continued. He heard the buzz of the disproportionate supplications of his thoughts, probably, and must have continued to listen when the entire zipper went down, and according to the workers' dress codes, just enough to reveal the black shirt - looking now, the trouser bar inside. Everything looked so thick and excessively dense in a way that never in years Myung-gi felt before. Kisses with more freedom were distributed on his covered chest, there was not much to do. He wanted to at least take off the other guy's coat too. Fuck, he was needing his name.
One of his fast and heavy hands slipped inside his pants and Myung-gi took a deep breath. Well, just by surprise; by adrenaline, he said to himself, when things began to look a little more real. He felt reciprocated when the touch began to falter and the man stopped the kisses to look him in the eyes, again. He felt that those looks could easily be death threats. They were so many, coming from him. It was the most familiar feeling that would come to his messy and surrendered mind at that moment to process, it was almost a relief.
The commander analyzed him so much that he could even see his chest rising and falling with his breath, almost colliding with his. Myung-gi then worked on doing what he wanted, with his hands on the opening of the other's coat quickly, continuing to stare at him. His persistent expression seemed to try to remember something, when, while the half undressing, he said: "Lee Myung-gi."
"Yes?" The one replied, kind of less surprised than he should be.
"This is your name."
In that tone of voice of his, it sounded like a conclusion. Maybe for himself, Myung-gi thought. He also wanted one. "I found out a while ago, actually. For you to see how I kept my eyes in only one place." and he laughed, as if it was funny, as he always seemed to do.
Myung-gi wanted one so much. The man above him was looking more confident without the uniform coat than him, when he himself ran to take off the sleeves. His big arms were something else to repair; the two needed to hurry, although, then the look that was passed on the muscles, tattoos, scars that he got working and those that were probably not from work was interrupted, it was almost not considered, which was a pain.
He took his hand to the back of myung-gi's neck again and they kissed again, with more dexterity, knowing more what to do. Confidence was distributed in those touches, if it's going to put in terms, even if both denied it. They had all those caresses and all those silly hands and all this was by chance. And Myung-gi had so many things to talk about. So many questions he wanted to do, take it clean.
"What's your name?" He asked, when they quickly separated for breath. He tried to know what to do with his hand inside the other's pants, caressing the volume, when there were more and more kisses being placed on his neck, and he also wanted to do that - and, again, he felt like a child.
"Choi Su-bong," he replied, with a low voice. Right, he was panting, Myung-gi forgot that. He found himself raising his other hand to touch Su-bong's face, as if something had changed. Something in him.
He seemed more blushed now. Myung-gi probably was too, with the heat that radiated from his face, or from any part that was touched by Su-bong. Myung-gi felt so suddenly relieved that he could even giggle. "It doesn't suit you," he said. His palm was in a newly-coordination on su-bong's cock, up and down, and he kissed him probably to muffle the noises that came out of his mouth. Myung-gi liked that. There was a growing pain in his member, now throbbing, for minimal friction, right, but it was good to see Su-bong's furrowed eyebrows while he tried to contain himself by his cause, so it didn't even matter so much. At some point Su-bong realized that he was also in need and now they were both panting, it felt good, it didn't matter.
They were in another place now. Where they had no work to do or cameras watching them at that very moment (or not, because some guy friend of the shooter on the cameras was told of him that he was going to finish the square guard off that day), where there was not the voice of a man begging for his own life circulating in the back of Su-bong's mind. It seemed so unreal, brief and unreal, when you are about to wake up from a dream and become aware of everything - Myung-gi didn't want to wake up, Su-bong couldn't since a long time, - when you start to feel the solidity of the real world against your body and beg your eyes not to open.
And, well, the two pairs of eyes were wide open when that damn alarm sounded. "Workers, activities will end in five minutes..."
Myung-gi took a deep breath. Su-bong did the same. They cursed each other and Su-bong fixed the partially worn uniform, and got up like those nightmare people do after you show you're not afraid of them. He seemed so determined to just leave, Myung-gi, disappointed, thought. He just raised his head to look once again at that face, in his closed and dark and deep eyes, nothing else seemed to have color now and he wore a fluorescent coat. He felt, hasty and aware of it, that he could be stuck in that position forever - uncovered, under su-bong's gaze.
"I could ask them to kill you with the excuse of sexual harassment," he murmured.
Su-bong continued with the same motionless expression, half indecipherable, as always, the world was rotating again.
"You took a long time to protest, anyway."